Eventually you arrive, hooded and bound. The sackcloth of your hood obscures much, but you can still hear much and see a little. A sea gull cries as the wagon comes to a stop, and the waves break on a rocky shore line. A single dog barks, but is cut off by a sharp command. When the wagon continues, you can tell it does so over a long bridge. They stop again, though only briefly. You can hear a portcullis being lifted at some gatehouse. You can hear in the background a few other dogs, all responding immediately to the commands of their masters. Finally they removed you from the wagon. Guards mock you as double doors are opened. You are led upstairs past more guards. There is the heavy thunk of a door being unlocked. Only then do they remove your hood and put you in your cell. You can smell the burning brazier nearby. You are about to be marked as one of the forsaken. Welcome to Branderscar prison.
Eventually you arrive, hooded and bound. You are able to make out very little as you are brought to Branderscar prison. But your sharp ears allow you to hear a few things. A sea gull cries as the wagon comes to a stop. A single dog barks, but is cut off by a sharp command. The wagon begins moving again and only a few minutes later you arrive at your destination. You can hear in the background a few other dogs, all responding immediately to the commands of their masters.
Your captors enter the wagon, and you are dragged inside a building past more than one mocking guard. You go upstairs and hear the heavy thunk of a door being unlocked. Only then do they remove your hood and put you in your cell, chaining you with your arms above your head. You can smell the burning brazier in the next room. You are about to be marked as one of the forsaken. Welcome to Branderscar prison.
Hooded and bound, there is little you can hear or see on your way into the prison. The wagon ride is rough and bumpy. The guards are impatient and loud. But you do hear something else, the barking of a dog as the wagon comes to a stop. And then they bring you in, drag you up stairs to your cell. Finally, they remove the hood and place you in chains with your arms above your head. You can smell the burning brazier in the next room. You are about to be marked as one of the forsaken. Welcome to Branderscar prison.
Hooded and bound, there is little you can hear or see on your way into the prison. The wagon ride is rough and bumpy. The guards are impatient and loud. But you do hear something else, the barking of a dog as the wagon comes to a stop. And then they bring you in, drag you up stairs to your cell. Finally, they remove the hood and place you in chains with your arms above your head. You can smell the burning brazier in the next room. You are about to be marked as one of the forsaken. Welcome to Branderscar prison.
Hooded and bound, there is little you can see on your way into the prison. The wagon ride is rough and bumpy. The wagon comes to a stop. And then they bring you in, drag you up stairs to your cell. Finally, they remove the hood and place you in chains with your arms above your head. You can smell the burning brazier in the next room. You are about to be marked as one of the forsaken. Welcome to Branderscar prison.
In the kingdom of Talingarde, many crimes may send you to Branderscar Prison, but the sentence has but one meaning. You are wicked and irredeemable. Condemned, you face at best a life of shackles and servitude in the nearby salt mines. Others might await the “gentle” ministrations of the inquisitors so that co-conspirators may be revealed and confessions extracted. Perhaps, some of you will be spared this ordeal. Perhaps instead you have come to Branderscar to face the final judgment. In three days, the executioner arrives and the axe falls or the pyre will be lit. Through fire or steel, your crimes will be answered.
One by one you are brought and chained in the same communal cell dressed in nothing but filthy, tattered rags. Each of you receives the same greeting when you arrive. You are held down by rough hands and branded upon the arm with a runic F, Blackerly, the watch sergeant, laughs as he presses the brand to your skin. The mark signifies ‘forsaken’ and the painful scar is indelible proof that each of you has betrayed the great and eternal love of Mitra and his chosen mortal vassals. Manhandled and mistreated, any finery you once possessed is either ruined or long lost. No special treatment has been given any prisoner--male or female, commoner or noble--all of the forsaken are bound and imprisoned together. Your feet are secured by iron cuffs tethered by one long chain. Your arms are secured to the wall above by manacles. A guard is posted right outside the cell day and night. Little thought is given to long term accommodations. At Branderscar, justice comes swift and sure.
Escape seems hopeless. You have all been well searched and every attempt to conceal anything on your person has failed. And if you could somehow slip your bonds and fly out of this prison, where would you go? Talingarde has already shown it is not welcoming to your kind.
For each of you, your old life is over. For each of you, hope is a fading memory. For each of you, justice will be fairly meted. And who will be left to say how you were driven to your crime, or how truly unjust Mtira's "justice" is? None. None to mourn you, and none to do anything other than say, "it was right that they died."
Once you are all chained and have been branded, a man comes in, the very definition of a knight in shining armor--though you are the villains in his story and not likely to be rescued. He walks up and down the cell in front of you, giving a pitying and disgusted look to each in turn. "You have all abandoned the light of Mitra, and as such have been forsaken. I will be back in three days with a full company of knights and nobles, where we will witness your deaths under that light which you have abandoned. It is too late to save your lives, but maybe you have time to save your souls. Think on that for these three days." The knight leaves without saying another word or waiting for reply.
Finally not long after he's left, the guards step outside the cell, and for the first time you are alone with the other condemned. There is only one other in the room with you, down at the end of the room in his own cell, though he seems to be uninterested in you at the moment as he stares at the door, where . The smell of burning flesh still hangs on the air. The creature's heavy breathing and the subtle clink of chains as you shift are the only noises in the room.
"Finally... Some peace..." a Halfling woman whispers to herself as she remains slumped against the wall. Her large eyes and porcelain skin make her look strangely childlike, a disturbing juxtaposition with the dark and dirty jail cell.
"What a loving god Mitra is, how merciful to their children," she continues to herself before testing her bonds quietly, the fresh brand still smarting on her arm. Without anymore interruptions from the guards, she takes a moment to look around. "Well aren't we a sorry sight! Who do I have the pleasure of rooming with today?" she asks the room, her voice oozing with a practiced showmanship.
Though restrained hand and foot, while being dragged out of the cell, Silarsha will try to elbow, knee or headbutt the first person close enough by feel that she thinks she can get to.
"Get your hands off me you filthy bastard whore sons!"
In the cell, as the guards exit a tall human woman struggles against the chains. Clad in the same tattered rags as the others; her fresh bruises, and smears of dirt clinging to her exposed skin evidence that she didn't come here quietly. Eyes closed, she mumbles a stream of profanities and graphic insults at the guards backs. After a few moments the quiet tirade ends, and she tosses back her head trying clear her long, but now tangled and matted blonde hair from her eyes.
"Well now, at least I'm out of that blasted wagon . . ."
She then winces, and looks at the fresh brand marring her arm.
"And if we're lucky we'll live long enough for this to get infected."
She then sighs, and looks around the room.
Locking eyes with the halfling; she says "I'm Silarsha. Who are you?"
Another woman stands off to the side, slumping in her chains from exhaustion. Her eyes, shaped much like that of a cat, shine violet in the flickering torchlight. Her face contorts in rage at the sight of the knight. She spits at the man's retreating back when he leaves, yelling after him, "My soul is clean Havelyn! The people I killed weren't innocent, unlike what you do!"
She falls quiet as the door is pulled shut and the guards give a menacing tap of their clubs. She stands like that, a fire seemingly on the edge of burning everything down, until the guards finally leave.
She looks over at the others, beginning to get friendly with each other. She watches their faces intently, before speaking up, "Tressa," she says with no preamble. When the others look at her, she smiles wide and begins to stretch out her hand to them before the chain pulls tight. She grimaces, letting her hands relax again. "My name's Tressa. What brings you all to such fine accomodations?"
She's lying about her name.
As Tressa speaks, Silarsha looks over to her side.
"Well met Tressa." These honor-less sons of goblins ambushed my father's ship, and slaughtered the crew as we slept. Then after dragging me from the water called me a 'pirate'. After a sham of a trial, they sent me here to be hung. A pirate? ME? Hung!! They don't even have the decency to have trial by combat. Instead they shame me with a coward's death.
Her face reddens and tears start to well in her eyes but are quickly stifled.
I am no scum from the Shackles; afraid of their own shadows, stealing coppers from fat merchants, raping and murdering as they go with no rules, and no purpose but their own greed.
She pauses to take a deep breath, holds her head up as her eyes gleam with anger.
I'm a proud Ulfen. Daughter of the one called Red Axe. We come with the spring tide, and we only take our due; as is the right of the mighty. Tribute duly earned. We walk tall and proud. In daylight. In honor and blood and glory!
Seeming to have run out of steam, she speaks softly in another language:
I Ære og blod.
And then she sags down in her chains as if the reality of her situation has finally sunk in.
** spoiler omitted **
"I am Charmaine Trill," the Halfling responds to her brutish cellmate as she evaluates her. "I can tell you're a quick learner from all the badges they left you with!" she says with a pained smile. But damn useful in a fight, that's for sure...
"A former master of mine had me arrested for a trifle, really. I hadn't even done anything yet before he had my friends beaten and me carted off," she explains with a scoff. "I didn't even get a trial, just a little note explaining that I was to live out the rest of my days in the salt mines!" Charmaine continues with an attempt at some theatrical hand motions, yet the ever present reminder of her captivity pulls the movements short.
"Anyone else tired of these new additions? I'm quite over them already, where is their sense of style?"
________
She turns to look at Charmaine
"They only gave me the one chance. After that they learned not to get that close. Their retaliation was very efficient though, I'll give them that much." She then stretches as much as the chains allow, wincing slightly at the movement. Very efficient. I can't try that again without a better plan . . .
She closes her eyes and says: Brutal efficiency is a style of its own, and this place seems to have that in abundance." and rattles her chains for emphasis.
A young woman is chained up beside you. She is short, with a mess of blond hair hanging over rage-filled eyes. Her bare arms are well-muscled but covered in a smattering of scars running up to her shoulders. She currently smolders in silence, and you recall that she hasn't said anything since she was brought in. She didn't even react to the signature branding undergone by prisoners of this particular prison, except for one moment when, her face half-obscured by the rivulets of smoke rising off her burning arm, she'd looked up at Blackerly, glaring daggers - and then permitted herself a sneering, hateful grin. She'd kept that face on him long after he'd stopped searing her flesh, long after he'd walked further down the line, and all the way until he left the room. At that, she'd lowered her head once more, and didn't even seem to acknowledge the knight that addressed the room after.
Once the room has been vacated of all those still loyal to Talingarde, she begins to obviously look around, and it becomes apparent that she had been doing that while her head had hung low as well. She continues looking about the room, even as other prisoners begin to speak, listening all the while.
"Tress" pulls her mouth tight as Silarsha gets more animated and upset throughout her telling. Ugh, I can't follow her. I need to get out of here so I can actually see what they're saying. She tests her chains then goes back to listening. I think I got most of it though.
As Charmaine begins her speech, theatrics and all, "Tress" arches an eyebrow, somehow the perfect image of a curious cat. "Quite the theatrics there. You perform too, then?" She shakes her head, "It doesn't matter, you're right, we need to get out of here somehow, but how is the question, isn't it?"
She motions to Silarsha, "So you've discovered what we can't do to get out, but I don't intend to give up there. I also don't intend to show my hand before I'm ready. It seems to me that, while time is not on our side, we have a bit of it." She motions a little farther on, "And what of you two. Will you help us if escape can be had?" she pauses for a long moment, unsure then adds with a sigh "May as well let each other know how we can help, as we are likely to live it die together however it's done. I can use some magic given to me by the gods of fire," she speaks as if it's being dragged out of her, "Less than I'd like, but enough to be useful if we can get out of these chains." She breathes deep, eyes closed then looks back, "Whatever skills you all bring to the table will probably be more useful if we know how we can work together. This one," she swings her head to Silarsha, "can obviously fight. What about the rest of you?"
Looking at the cells, the bars are strong and reinforced. The locks though, they seem to be ancient.
She turns to face Tress.
"Aye. I can fight. And I'm not giving up either. I may die here, but I will not die at the end of a rope. I'll die on my feet and make my ancestors proud."
A smile crosses her face as she continues, "And with luck, I'll take a few of them with me when I go."
A small heap in the middle of the chain groans back to conciousnes. Not everyone can blink past a branding. She pushes herself into a seated position, raking her electric blue hair out of her eyes. A bleeding welt sticks it to her face in a black clot. She missed the Knight's swaggering threats, but is nontheless immediately determined. "I suppose there's no worth in discussing a future in which we do not successfully escape. I'm Wocket Daergle, but don't expect any dimensional doors anytime soon. I could just about peg a rat at sixteen paces. Anything bigger would have a chance to yell. What are the odds of us setting gigantor loose?" The gnome inclines her chin toward the hulking person at the end of the room.
"Playing the part has gotten me a lot of coin," Charmaine practically purrs. "If I had the tools, I'd be good with a lock too, but alas..." she continues, holding her hands up in the air. "I also know where to stick things so that it hurts," she concludes with a wink. "Besides being able to open your eyes and turn your head, what can you do?" the Halfling asks the silent, but obviously smoldering, woman.
"We might have to see how a typical day goes for us before hatching any sort of real plan... The first step is obviously to be able to move freely in this cell. So, um, Wocket, your some sort of wizard? Don't you need like a book or your cat or something to be useful?" she asks, more through ignorance than as a deliberate jab.
The gnome nods along with the suggestion to spend some time observing.
At the mention of spell books, Wocket blinks. "Is that a normal thing for wizards? I've never had a chance to see any of those kinds of books, so no. I can do lights, sounds, or a weak acid with a word and a gesture," She indicates her bonds with a frown, "but I'm better with palm lightning. It's stronger and it comes naturally."
You've only been left alone for an hour when the door crashes open. Six guards, all heavily armed, come into the cell led by Sergeant Blackerly. Blackerly walks to your cage and points to Heverly. "You there, Heverly!" Turning his head to the side, "That's the scum. Get 'er unshackled." He faces the prisoners again, "If any of you makes trouble, you'll earn more than a thrashing." He looks especially hard at Silarsha, and the guards go out of their way to keep out of her reach. Finally, with Heverly unshackled from the wall, they lead her out of the cell, locking the door again.
"It's your lucky day Heverly. You've got a visitor. How you ever warranted such a fine lady is beyond me. Now step lively. We can't keep her waiting." Blackerly takes Heverly by the arm, and with the other guards escoert her out of the room.
You are led through the next room too fast to make out much more than the fact that there's a table and a fireplace, before they usher you through another door into a plain and featureless room, save for a
single stout wooden table and four chairs. A hauntingly beautiful woman in an elegant black dress and soft silken veil sits here waiting. Her hair is so platinum as to almost be white and her eyes are a vibrant, almost unearthly green. Tears run down her face, and she has clearly been weeping. You have no idea who she is or why she would be visiting you.
You are shoved into a chair across the table from her, and she cries out, "Oh, dearest! I'm so relieved you're alive." She quickly turns to Blackerly, "Could we please have a moment alone, good sir? For pity's sake?"
The Sergeant goes blank for a moment, then quickly agrees. [b]"Of course, my lady. For you, 'tis no problem." Blackerly ushers the guards out and closes the door.
Something is strange about the interaction, but it is hard to say exactly what it was.
The moment Blackerly is gone, the woman drops her pretense of grief and becomes stern and stony faced, riding over any attempt to speak first. "What's the matter dearest? Forgotten me already?" Her mouth twitches in a smirk, then goes back to business. "Call me Tiadora. We possess a mutual friend who would like to meet you and your fellow cell-mates. Unfortunately, our friend is unwilling to visit you in your present, rather shabby accomodations," she makes a point of eyeing your rags up and down, "so it seems you must escape." She speaks so matter of factly that it seems it's the only possibility she is willing to consider.
"When you manage that, cross the moors on the outskirts of town. On the old Moor Road, you'll see a manor house with a single lantern burning in the second story. There our mutual friend waits. That is all I know." She reaches up to her head then, "Oh, he did wnat me to give you this though." Her fingers grasp the silken veil and it comes off easily. She wipes away a few fake tears and ands it over. "Something to remember me by, dearest."
Silarsha bristles at the sight of the guards, but she takes no action other than to watch them closely as they move by her at a safe distance. When Blackerly directs his glare at her, she glares right back with no sign of being intimidated by his threat.
Once "Tressa" leaves with the guards Grumblejack speaks, and Silarsha glances over at the very large occupant of the room.
She then blinks twice as though she has just noticed him for the very first time.
Her face quickly taking an unpurturbed expression as she responds to his question.
"I've got no idea why she has a vistor. You say this hasn't happend before?"
Without waiting for a response she continues;
"How long have you been in here to have seen others come and go?"
Though she tries to hide it, she clearly had no clue that the big green guy was even in the room with them.
"...but I will not die at the end of a rope..."
Talia's ears perk up at the mention of their particular shared fate.
"Agreed." She speaks, looking Silarsha directly in the eye. "Listen, I pack a hard punch in a straight fight, and I know how to sneak around, but right now the best thing I can offer is my professional expertise. Once we get out of these shackles, the weak point of these cells seems to obviously be those old locks. Smashing those locks will be our best bet of getting-". She cuts off as the door clatters open and Blackerly reenters, returning to her previous grinning silence.
When they leave and the caged creature speaks up, Talia notices Silarsha blinking in surprise,but says nothing. Instead she responds directly to the creature, "I wish I knew, but I don't know her. But what of you? Why are you kept under the lock and key of Markadian?"
What I wouldn't give to be Tressa right now... Charmaine looks forlornly at her chains before bringing her attention to the thing with the big teeth. "Well damn, isn't that a smile only a mother could love! What brings you in here, big guy? You also look like someone with useful talents! Do tell, I'd love to hear about what you could bring to our fleeting freedom." Now setting THAT thing loose is surely a recipe for success! Wonder how many guards he could kill before they finally put him down. Surely enough for me to hightail it out of here!
________
Heverly snarls as the sergeant says her real name, but then her eyes narrow, A visitor? Who could be visiting me? She follows along, trying to minimize the need for Blackerly to pull her, as they go out the door.
As Heverly looks over the veil, she sees that it is a fine silk veil of gossamer cloth, with strange cloth patches on it. Tiadora looks over at you and gives a wicked smile, "If you cannot find out how it will help you, then you all may not have as much potential as we'd originally thought."
"Grumblejack is it?" Silarsha says calmly, and trying to sound convincing "We aren't your food. As far as I care, you can eat just about anyone else in the place. But we are just like you; trapped in here."
With a small smile on her face, she looks toward Grumblejack
Damn. He's big, and with these chains it'll be hard to keep him from eating us if he decides we're snacks. Father wouldn't be proud of you if that's how you die. Even if it's a slightly better way to go than the rope.
She then shifts herself slightly in the chains to square her body toward Grumblejack's cell.
Dont show weakness. Weak equals prey. I'm not food. . .
If you feel is needed/appropriate:
He then turns to Wocket and laughs at her antics, he looks between the two for a moment, considering, "Alright, Grumblejack no eat you 'uns."
Shestands then, "One last thing, you must bring all your cell mates. I could not meet with all of you in this room, but this is an all or nothing deal, Heverly. Your fate is tied to theirs."
At that moment the door opens again and Tiadora is a picture of grief. “No, I can’t bear to leave you!” She runs up and kisses Heverly on the cheek. The kiss is ice-cold and feels somehow alien and inhuman.
Blackerly shakes his head, "I'm afraid it's time, miss."
Tiadora looks deep in Blackerly's eyes and says, "Thank you for letting me say good-bye. There’s no need to search my dearest. You are such a good friend for letting me see my dearest one more time.”
"Such a good friend," he repeats almost mechanically. He seems to snap out of it and bows. "A pleasure, madam." Tiadora leaves unveiled. Her eyes meet Heverly's one last time and she briefly smiles a wicked smile.
Three days. The words echo in Heverly's mind as if she could hear again and someone were speaking in her ear, Don't disappoint me, dearest. With that Tiadora is gone.
Heverly is brought back in and chained in much the same way that she was brought out. Once again the guards leave the room, and things return to what might pass for normal in Branderscar.
"So?" Wocket prods the princess with the peculiar patron. "Did you see a way out, or where they're keeping our stuff? Tell me you at least counted your steps."
A snack? I'm suddenly less interested in how Grumblejack got into this pit... Still useful, but I'll have to be exceptionally careful around him... "I am certainly not food! But we might all just become friends, at least for the moment, how about that?"
"Oh oh oh, and do tell: what's a Heverly?" Charmaine asks with a sly smile as she turns her attention to their return visitor. "They didn't do my the service of leaving me with my pocket dictionary, but it isn't a word I'm quite familiar with," she continues, her words drenched in sarcasm. Counting steps? This one is a natural! Aren't we all just full of hidden talents?
Upon "Tressa's" return, Silarsha looks her over.
"Are you okay?"
She pauses, and a concerned expression takes over her face.
Was this some type of ploy by the guards to get her alone? I wouldn't put it past them to do something so disgusting. More like rabid dogs than men.
Did they hurt you? Did they try something indecent? If they did, they'll pay for it in blood if it's the last thing I do...
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Wocket rolls her eyes at Silarsha's display of pity. She catches Charmaine's gaze, then glances at the human and back with a plaintive question in her expression. Really?
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Heverly gives a flat look at Charmaine, then finally drops her gaze. "Old habits die hard. I've lived a long time with no one knowing who I am, so yes my name is Heverly. I also need to tell you that," she stops, takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly Revealing my name is one thing, but showing weakness another. No it must be done. I am deaf. I cannot hear any of you. In order to understand you, you'll have to make sure I'm looking at your lips. I tell you all this now though, because it seems we are going to need to truly trust each other more than ever." Heverly looks up and looks each of the others in the eye, smiling brightly, "It seems we are really going to escape." She opens her closed hand enough to spread out the thin gossamer veil. "It seems we have a mysterious benefactor who wishes to meet with us, and has sent a woman named Tiadora to help facilitate this meeting. She left me with this and instructions on how to reach this benefactor should we escape." She looks up at the veil, puzzled, "Now, we just need to figure out what it is."
As she examines the veil, she replies to Wocket, "They took me less than a few feet outside the room. There is one room just outside, likely a guard room, but I could not see any of it with the seven men around me, ushering me into the next room over, which is just a small interview room. Table and chairs in there. It's likely as useful to us as our cell."
The veil is a silken fabric, with fabric patches interspersed across the veil.
As she listens to Heverly's admission, Silarsha nods.
"That makes sense. You didn't know us, and some habits are very hard to break."
As Heverly continues, Silarsha stares at her with a surprised expression.
"I never noticed. You're very good at hiding it!"
She makes sure that Heverly is looking at her before speaking further.
She pauses for a moment.
"I never really thought about escape, but if this is a possibility, then I've got your backs."
When the veil is passed along to her, she'll look at it for a second then shake her head.
"I've got no clue. This is beyond me."
She then passes the veil down the line.
"I'll leave it to the experts."
Talia receives the veil and tries to get a clear view while dangling it awkwardly from shackled hands.
Finding nothing, she carefully passes it down to the next prisoner in silence. "As I was saying, the locks here are the weakest point, at least here in the cells. We'd then have to get out of the cell block, find some gear, then escape the prison itself, and finally get some significant distance from the inevitable search parties, perhaps even one led by the famed Sir Balin. Some level of deception and sneaking will no doubt be necessary to have even a sliver of a chance. But let's focus on the first steps.
"We need to know more about the lay of the prison." To Grumblejack, she asks, "Do they let anyone out of these cells for any reason, like for food or exercise? Or should we expect to languish in this tiny room for the next few days?
You recognize the symbol in the center as a symbol of Asmodeus, but there is little else that you can see that would give a hint to it's use.
Grumblejack rumbles a laugh, "No one leaves cells, 'cept to die." He continues to laugh, he seems to think you've told some sort of joke.
After passing off the veil, Silarsha considers the puzzle posed by the mysterious strip cloth.
Think! Anything in the tales the Skalds would tell?
"Hmmm..."
"Well, that's a damned shame," Talia responds to Grumblejack. "But I'd sure as hell die on my schedule than on theirs. This just gives us less knowledge to work with."
As her words echo off the stone walls, she is hit with a moment of revelation. She looks directly at Heverly, waiting until she returns her gaze. "This benefactor of yours - of ours - they wouldn't happen to be worshipers of Asmodeus, would they?"
Heverly raises an eyebrow, "I have no idea. Tiadora would not give me any information about them." She pauses and her voice becomes ice, "Why? That wouldn't be a problem for you, would it?"
Looking over to Talia with a sudden start, Silarsha exclaims; "Talia! That's it! The symbol on the veil. It's the symbol of Asmodeus. I knew I'd seen it before."
A smile lights up her face.
"My first season, on the ship we tied up across a dock from a Chellish navy clipper while dropping off a load of cargo. They had a priest who wore that symbol on board."
Wocket gives the veil a look, searching beyond the symbolism of her mother's fallen god. Surely this clandestine hanky was more than a sign that they had allies. She carefully makes a circle of her thumb and ring finger, and traces it over the cloth. "Whither; Whence; Wherefor."
"There's something magic to these patches, though I haven't the faintest idea what or how to use them. It may be as simple as obscuring the image to those who would persecute, or it could be a magical lock pick... It does literally have a picture of lockpicks on it. Maybe the patches are conjuration magic? I'd need more time to make heads or tails of it..." Wocket offers the veil to whoever wants a closer look.